Tokens
by BxStarama
Summary: Everyone has something that they hold onto. A collection of character drabbles.
1. Suit

**AN: Hey guys. Third fic is finally up. I decided to try something new and actually post something in more than one day! Allthough, since this is a collection of character blurbs they're still technically one-shot stories. I hope you enjoy. Constructive critism appreciated.**

1. Suit

It's a practice he does almost every day, almost like a ceremony. Wake up at 6:45 sharp. Have a quick breakfast and shower. Five identical jackets are lined in his closet, encased in plastic wrappings from the Laundromat. A sixth is kept in his locker, in case of an emergency. He selects the first one on the left, even though it doesn't really matter. He buttons up and smooths out the creases. His ties are kept in a small dresser next to his bed. In one seamless motion he ties it around his neck. He gives it one final tug, adjusting it to perfect symmetry.

By 7:30 he gives himself a final once over in the bathroom mirror. His hair is neatly combed and gelled, his teeth pearly white, blemishes on his face well hidden or nonexistent. Like every morning he smiles at his reflection, sings a few bars of his favorite song this week and smooths his jacket out one more time.

The boy in the mirror is not the same one who would run from his school the moment final bell rang. It's not the one who was forced to wear make-up, not because it made him feel pretty (as some had speculated) but to hide bruises from that week's beating. It wasn't the coward who fled.

Instead, this was the jock. The prince charming with a smile as big and warm as his heart. The big man on campus. He winks at himself almost mockingly, then grabs his bag and heads out the door, all past scars forgotten.

The clothes makes the man, or so they say.

* * *

Tokens


	2. Canary

2. Canary

It's took a bit of adjusting, but he grew to love the little bird. He'd fed it, talked to it, and on at least one occasion sung to it, and the bird would always respond with a head tilt or a chirp. In spite of all that had happened, it was always here to cheer him up.

He'd done his best to take care of the creature, but there were times when he was just clueless. If it weren't for his knight in shining armor he'd be helpless. But that was to be expected. New school, new friends- new life, practically. He places a hand against the wire cage but the bird is startled so he withdrawals. He goes back to his homework, memorizing histories and reviewing literature.

All the while he glances back to the bird fluttering about. He worries that the poor thing's going to panic itself to death, and considers moving the cage or covering it with a blanket. In the end he decides against it- too much change can be a bad thing.

He watches it flutter about, thinking of the future he hopes for and the past he wants to forget. He misses his friends, and wonders if the new ones will be anything like the old. At least he has his knight now. He shuts his notebook and heads downstairs, giving the bird one last worried glance.

He wonders if it's as happy as it looks.


	3. Figures

3. Figures

He turns the plastic trinket over in his hand again, examining all of it perfections and imperfections. There's nothing really special about it- just a man and a woman standing together, like it should be. The solitary streetlight casts strange shadows over it, giving the couple dark grimaces. After school he'd take the car for a drive. His mother asked him where he was going and, as usual, he didn't respond. It was 3 hours away, but this place was the only place he could be alone.

He leans back on the hood of the old Dodge trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. Nothing seems right. He'd won the championship, he hadn't flunked out yet, and he remained one of the ruling forces of the school. He looks at the little sculpture, gripping it a bit tighter. It's not his fault. If it weren't for that fag he would be fine. Even when the queer left, he was still haunted by him every day. The angry glares from the gleeks, the occasional ribbing by his friends about not have a girlfriend- the dreams.

On top of that, he was forced to join Glee. Even if it was one week, that halftime show would remain probably go down in infamy as one of the stupidest things the football team had ever done. Worse than breaking out into dance in the middle of a game. He would never forgive himself for that.

It didn't matter he was good at it. It didn't matter that people were still talking about how great the show was. It didn't matter that it made him happy, as happy as

The moment he kissed...

In one quick motion he throws the wedding topper off the side of the road. He jumps back in his car and drives off- not heading home, not really heading anywhere.

The engine roars so loud that he can't hear himself scream.


	4. Puzzle Pieces

4. Puzzle Pieces

She loves puzzles. She makes a point to finish one once a week. With puzzles, everything has their place, a purpose. Puzzle pieces know that they're part of some big idea, that even though they can't see it they'll make a beautiful fam- picture.

She means picture.

She scans the table for corresponding shapes, snippets of people and places that need to find their whole. Her puzzle solving system down pat. The key is to make the frame of it first, and then just group the pieces by color- the blue make up the sky, reds make a shirt or barn. If she was on a roll she could do a 1000 piece puzzle without having to consult the box for directions. Some people might call that sad, but she considered it an achievement. At least, when compared to the rest of her life anyway.

It helps her forget, anyways. When you're piecing together an exact replica of The Last Supper and you can't find Jesus' left palm anywhere, you tend to forget the details of your life. Like the fact that your new craft room is just a closet with folding chair and a card table. Or that you're therapist is disappointed that you made perfectly justifiable death threats to your ex husband for semi-cheating with some Christmas hooker. Or the letter from adoption agencies denying your appeal for a baby.

She stops, and looks at the almost complete masterpiece. What was once a jumble of colors and fragments is now almost complete, only four gaps where minor details are needed. She smiles to herself as she gathers the final bits from table to place in their home. But something's not right. She searches now- worried but not frantic. Under the table and chair, in the box, behind the door. Her face drops. Of the 1500 pieces needed to recreate a DaVinci classic, she has 1499. She sighs, and places the last 3 pieces in their proper places, leaving the table cloth to forever be ruined with a moth hole.

She convinces herself she doesn't need all the pieces to be whole.


End file.
